


Toy Soldier

by MammaTino



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Death, M/M, Mentions of APH Denmark, Wow look more angst and death, and mystery, aph denmark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:30:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9387284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MammaTino/pseuds/MammaTino
Summary: Unlike popular opinion, there were many things that Björn Oxenstjärna didn't know. For instance, he didn't know where he was, why he could feel soft fabric underneath his fingertips, why he could taste the bitterness of the spit on his tongue, and why he could hear muffled crying somewhere in the distance. His eyes were glued shut, but he didn't need them to be open to feel awake, to be aware of the senses surrounding him, sinking into his skin and slithering into his busy mind, making his thoughts whir even louder as he was overwhelmed with questions and inquires of what happened to him. Nothing felt right, everything was wrong but he couldn't quite understand why, making him twitch uncomfortably. But even with all of these thoughts flooding him, there was one thing he was sure of. He knew, deep down somewhere he couldn't reach without difficulty,He wasn't supposed to be here.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wow look another short story  
> Almost similar to the other short story I posted, except more angsty I guess. And longer. There are still a lot of differences, don't worry- it's not a 're-boot' or anything.  
> Enjoy~  
> -Tem

Unlike popular opinion, there were many things that Björn Oxenstjärna didn't know. For instance, he didn't know where he was, why he could feel soft fabric underneath his fingertips, why he could taste the bitterness of the spit on his tongue, and why he could hear muffled crying somewhere in the distance. His eyes were glued shut, but he didn't need them to be open to feel awake, to be aware of the senses surrounding him, sinking into his skin and slithering into his busy mind, making his thoughts whir even louder as he was overwhelmed with questions and inquires of what happened to him. Nothing felt right, everything was wrong but he couldn't quite understand why, making him twitch uncomfortably. But even with all of these thoughts flooding him, there _was_ one thing he was sure of. He knew, deep down somewhere he couldn't reach without difficulty,

He wasn't supposed to be here.

The Swede couldn't be quite sure about where exactly he was supposed to be, but he knew that it wasn't where he was located at that moment. The last he could remember was a bright and hateful flurry of red and yellow overwhelming his stiff body, his body plunging into a dark abyss of emptiness, where all he could feel was nothing, not even the weight of his body, not even a loud thudding from his heart beating in his ears, as everything he grew so familiar of just suddenly disappeared from existence. The loneliness was too much for him to handle in that abyss, not even a feeling of silence existed, no ringing he could hear, there wasn't a single sound to be heard, no person to speak to and no thought he could think. But if he could portray his emotion, if he could register what was going on at that moment, if he could speak, he knew that he would have broken down right then and there.

But now Björn was somewhere else, laying on something soft (A bed, he presumed) as all these senses he so desperately wanted back coursed through his mind, almost making the Swede wish they were gone once again. At first, his heart fluttered as he hoped that everything he could remember, all he could remember, was just a dream, something he would remember for a short while before moving onto other things. He let that thought comfort him for what felt like minutes, filling him with some sort of childish excitement, like a boy who was about to get his favourite toy for his birthday. But soon, the more he thought about it, his silver lining started to dim, realizing that something like that, something as terrifying and painful as those experiences couldn't have been created by his imagination.

The heat

The loneliness

The pain

The fear

It was too realistic, too horrible for it to be a figment of his imagination.

Björn shuddered and forced his eyes open, blinking at the light seeping through the closed curtains and onto his face. He lifted up a hand up to cover his eyes and winced, a sting of pain- no, more than a sting- seared up his arm and shoulder, throbbing painfully as he tried to move it again. The Swede grunted in pain and muttered in Swedish under his breath, something that was hard to understand as he tried to relax and sighed. He squinted greatly and looked around the room, trying to understand the details in the room hating how everything seemed blurry and hazy. His dark sapphire eyes trailed next to his bed and he saw, perched neatly on the top of the night-table next to an empty glass of water, thin-rimmed spectacles. The lenses were polished and spotless, not a single stain or finger-print on it. He hesitantly reached out with his painful arm and picked them up, slipping them on quietly as he continued looking around.

The next thing he took notice of, was the crying.

Soft muffled sobs echoed around the house, words of pain and grief following right after those, flowing in and out of rooms like streams of heartbreak. Björn immediately sat up, which turned out to be a great mistake. He hissed through his teeth and tried not to cry out as hot pain spread throughout his body, his back tingling in a horrible way as it throbbed, worse than when he moved his arm earlier.

Björn wouldn't let that stop him, not when there was someone else nearby, someone who seemed to be in pain. He pushed himself up and panted heavily, every movement he made was setting his body on fire, almost like a rip-off of the heat that surrounded him on that day he entered the abyss. He held onto the wall and pushed himself through, nudging the door open with his foot and stepping into the dark hallways, moving as quickly as he could to the room where the sobs originated from.

The swede could tell that the other one in pain was a child, a young boy with a light voice. Björn placed his ear against the door and listened intently, hearing the small voice call out for someone. "Papa...Papa it hurts..."

Without much thought, he quickly opened the door and stepped in, trying to recognize who the boy was. He walked over to him and grunted as he kneeled down in front of the hunched body sitting on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on his small knee. The child in before him had light blonde hair falling down onto his face, soft hands wiping away his tears, though more and more kept flowing down his face, showing no signs of stopping. "P-papa..."

Björn instantly recognized the boy and placed his large hand on his head, petting it gently, trying to soften his features so he would comfort him instead of scaring the boy. "Peter, what's wrong..?"

"It hurts, Papa, it hurts!"

He felt his heart silently shatter at the way his son cried, making him want to hug him tightly, carry the world on his shoulders, do anything to make the heart-breaking tears go away and reveal the large grin that he loved so much, the smile that can outshine any star and put them to shame. Björn stood up and sat next to Peter on the bed, placing his hand on the back of his head and pulling him closer, hugging him gently. "What hurts? What's wrong?"

"M-my face burns, it hurts s-so m-much.."

Peter lifted up his face and that was when Björn's heart skidded to a stop.

Dotted on his face were ugly patches of red, some with dark and cracked edges surrounding them, some thin layer of skin peeling off in a couple of areas, revealing a soft and strangely textured muscle underneath, a few of the wounds were dry while others seemed to be throbbing painfully. The Father stared incredulously at the burns dotted on his son's face, but his solemn expression only shifted a bit, his brows slowly furrowing. "What happened?"

More tears trickled down the red and peach cheeks of the boy, "I don't know, I didn't do anything!" He sobbed and wiped his eyes, whimpering, "I want daddy.."

"Daddy?"

"I want daddy... " the boy shakily pointed to a framed picture on the night-stand. Three people were crowded together and facing the camera. He could recognize himself, his hard and serious face softening down a little, the corners of his lips tugged up slightly in what could be recognized as a faint smile, his son standing in the middle, his pearly white teeth bared for the world to see, lightening up the atmosphere well. On the other side of his precious son stood another man, a man who looked like a woman at first glance, but the longer you stared at him the more you started making out the masculine features. The faint form of an Adam's apple, the way his jaw was slightly squared but still held a soft roundness, round and pale like the moon.

Björn silently admitted that the Moon-faced man was cute.

He blushed and shook his head, feeling like he was invading the man's privacy by staring at his pictured face, turning to look back at his son who sported tear-stained red and black cheeks. "Is that daddy?"

Peter nodded and rubbed his cheeks, wincing in pain when his hand pressed against the many open wounds. The Swede took his small hands and lowered them down onto his lap, keeping them pinned down, feeling a thick lump wedge in his throat. "Don't touch yer face, y'll make it w'rse.."

Peter scrunched his face, "What?"

The Swede cleared his throat and tried to push the lump down so his grunts would be easier to understand. "I said don't touch yer face, you'll make it worse."

He watched the small nod and stood up, pulling his son onto his feet and slowly bringing him out of the room, briskly heading to the bathroom. "Dun' worry son, Papa will make it better."

Björn pushed the toiled lid down so the child could sit on it comfortably, raiding through the cabinet to find something, squinting through his lenses to try and read all the labels on the creams and bottles, attempting to find something to help take the pain away from his tearful child. "You're badly burnt..." He muttered, his hands pushing several bottles and boxes away, placing some on the counter surrounding the sink, the searing pain from moving around so much made him want to scream. "Do ya remember anything..?"

He spun on his heel, an ointment for burns in his hand. He kneeled down in front of Peter and brushed the soft blonde bangs out of his eyes, studying the other's face more carefully. Peter shook his head, "I don't remember...All I can remember is going to the fair with you and Daddy and-and something happened and you were hugging me a-and then I woke up in bed..."

The Swede bit his bottom lip and left out what he could remember, about the heat and the abyss. He squeezed a dollop of cream on his hand and started rubbing it on the boy's face, ignoring all the pleas to stop and the pained murmurs. "Dun' worry Peter, it'll be over soon..."

After a few more minutes of making sure his son was properly treated, he stood up and stepped back, looking him up and down, studying every mark and scar on his small, round face. Peter shakily followed Björn's example and stepped down from his make-shift seat, not touching his face so he wouldn't smudge the ointment everywhere and ruin the effects. "Where's daddy..?"

He sighed again, "I don't know who daddy is, Peter."

"Daddy is daddy! Don't you remember? You always say you love him..."

Bjorn was taken back. Sure, he thought the moon-faced man in the picture was adorable, but he didn't think that he loved him, not really. "I do? I don't remember 'im."

Peter stepped forward and gripped his father's large arms, looking up at him hopelessly, like a lost child _. He probably is_ , Björn thought. "Daddy used to dress up as Santa on Christmas and every time I got scared or sad he'd sing this song that you loved."

He tilted his head and studied the other carefully, humming softly as he tried to remember. The gentle tune of a song edged into his mind and he could recall the feeling of soft and gentle hands running through his blonde hair, smooth lips pressed against his temple as the words started to comfort his rapidly beating heart, his breath calming down. "I remember a song, but I don't remember your daddy."

Björn saw some tears well up in Peter's eyes and he reached down, gently wiping them away. "I'll remember soon, don't worry min son." He silently pet the boy and ushered him out, "Come on, I'll take you to the fair."

Peter started trembling and looked up at him, "The fair?"

"There should be one around this time of the year, no?"

When he mentioned the Fair, his heart panged in his chest, aching slightly. _'I don't understand.'_ he thought, _'I've always loved the fair.'_ He couldn't recall any bad times he spent there, any scarring memories that impacted his life. Yet here he was, feeling a gnawing fear take the better of his actions, squeezing his heart. The Swede's eyes flitted around the room, trying to think of a reason why he felt this way.

"But the crowds will scare you and Daddy isn't here to help.."

It clicked, that's why he was scared of the fair. The large crowds overwhelming his large body was a feeling he really despised, but not as much as the abyss. The abyss was like a personal hell designed just for him, using the things he loved and making him hate it. Thought the puzzle pieces set together, the click and the image didn't seem right. "I'll be fine, I want ya to take yer mind off all of this."

Peter nodded and quietly slid past his father, walking out of his sight. Björn took that as a chance to check the possible damage on his own skin. Softly and painfully, He pulled the white shirt over his head and discarded it on the floor turning to look at the mirror, his eyes widening greatly as he silently studied what possessed most of his back.

From the nape of his neck to the hem of his loose pants and along the back-side of his arms, large red and black marks blocked the beautiful pale beige of his natural skin, dry and cracking, some of it peeling off and falling to the floor in ugly flakes. The Swede felt some bile make its way up his throat, even though he never had anything to eat since god-knows-when. He kept looking at the mess in horror, the burns looking like a young child dipped its hand in red, black and brown paint before going around and smearing it all over his body, having no care of how unsightly it looked. He hesitantly ran his finger over one of the wounds and winced. They felt so fresh even though it looked like he was this way for a very long time.

What happened?

Not wanting to waste any time and worry his son, he squirted some of the ointment into his hand and started to apply it to his back, taking shuddering breaths as he continued to try and keep down whatever food he was about to throw up. It was a struggle to treat his wounds and he didn't want to call in Peter to help, knowing the way he would react if he saw all the scars and dry blood caking his body.

He'd be sick.

Very sick.

After wrapping his body up with a thick layer of bandages- not wanting to be able to see anything through it- he slipped on a shirt and walked out of the room, not wanting to stay in there anymore. As he made his way down the stairs he noticed more pictures lined against the walls, making everything seem more homely and warm with the gentle framed smiles of people. He slowly started to recognize people, such as his brother, some of his co-workers, and his brother's friends. Yet, he still couldn't recognize the moon-faced man.

It felt wrong, it felt like he should know him- but he didn't. The way Björn's memories became so useless and scattered made him hate himself even more, it made him want to scream.

Instead, he opted to go to his son, who was standing patiently at the door, trying his best to smile one of his father-figures, tugging on a thick coat while trying to pull on his boots at the same time. Björn let a small chuckle slip as he followed Peter's example, being more sensible in the way he was dressing and taking things one step at a time. He slowly pulled on a jacket, trying not to make sudden movements and make the pain worse for him to handle. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the small blonde look at him worriedly but didn't say anything about it, trying to act like he normally would, not wanting his child to bombard him with questions and demand him to stay at home, the one place the Swede didn't want to be at the moment.

Though at the same time he didn't want to go to the fair.

He drove in silence, feeling awkward since he was so used to his son blabbering loudly about what came to his mind and what he saw out the window. Four year olds can be very energetic, he concluded.

Once the small family pulled up, the lump in his throat got so big it was unbearable, making it hard for him to swallow and breathe. _"It's just a crowd."_ a familiar voice said, _"Just stick close to your family."_ He didn't understand whose voice it was, but the gentle tone gave him strength and enough courage to enter the crowded place, holding Peter's smaller hand in his larger one, knowing he had to stick close to him because he was the only adult there.

They took time going from one place to another, The swede was trying to forget what happened this morning and wanted to enjoy his time with his adopted son, being pulled and tugged towards different stalls. He watched silently as Peter pointed to different items and places, blabbering loudly and dying in peals of laughter, becoming his usual self, the son he loved dearly.

But the uneasy feeling never left.

The lump was still there, never going away no matter how many times the boy laughed and smiled. Even when he reached an empty part of the fair, where the vast ocean of loud people died down to a few droplets that slid past without a sound. Cold sweat dripped down his face and cooled his heated and scarred back. Björn gripped Peter's hand a little tighter before loosening up, not wanting to worry his son or make the Swede seem weak, Peter didn't need to know- "Daddy!"

He felt a light tug and he looked down at his child, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The boy kept tugging desperately and looking up at him through teary eyes, trying to move him towards another direction, pointing with a shaky hand. "It's Daddy! Look! Look!"

He kneeled down next to his son so he could see exactly where he was pointing too and scanned the crowd, trying to find the beautiful features that daddy was made out of. His sapphire eyes landed on a petite man, smooth blonde hair, the light azure eyes of joy and warmth mixed with the amethyst of mystery and wonder and a beautiful milky round face. Yes, it was the moon-faced man.

It was Daddy.

Before he could utter a single word, the small hand encased in his slipped out and Peter started running through the crowd towards Daddy, wrapping his small arms around his legs and burying them in the soft skin. Björn wasted no time and rushed after him, because even if Daddy was supposed to be special, to him, he was always a stranger. "I'm very sorry for the trouble, sir."

"Ah no...It's no trouble at all. You can call me by my real name, Björn..."

"I don't know it."

The way daddy looked up at him made him back up a bit, surprised at how shocked he seemed. Many questions rose up and started bunching together in his strange mind, churning wildly. Why can't he remember? Is that a ring on his finger? Are they both married? Why wasn't he- "T-toivakka. My name is Toivakka."

The name rolled around in his mind, tumbling and swirling, the letters spacing apart before compressing together again, forming different combinations before going the back of his neck and wrapping around the lump in his throat, making it smaller and more bearable. The Swede nodded, noticing his name was not Swedish, meaning he was a foreigner from another Scandinavian country. His son giggle gleefully and said something about Toivakka's name, pointing out how complicated it was to pronounce and spell, making Björn nod in agreement. Daddy laughed softly, the light sound making his heart flutter, "You can call me Toi, it's simpler and shorter. Peter, how could you forget my name, I spent days trying to teach you how to pronounce it!"

Peter laughed and nuzzled Toi's leg, the tone he used wasn't threatening or angry at all, it was more like he was trying to scold the child but didn't mean any harm. Björn admitted that it was very endearing, and without realizing it, he felt that he could breathe more easily, the thickness he felt in him had disappeared completely. "Toi...What happened t' me...?"

The smaller man looked up at him, the amethyst in his eyes seemed to slowly take over the warm azure of his irises, "What do you mean? What happened-"he looked down at his son and gasped, "-Peter! What happened!?"

Björn took a shuddering breath, not wanting his 'partner' to remind their son about this morning and the pain the boy felt when he woke up. Peter's eyes swelled up with plump tears, "I-I dunno, my face hurt but Papa made it better..."

"Now now, don't cry little Peter, at least...Papa...made it better, no?"

A small nod, "Mhm, but my face still tingles."

The Swede placed his hand on top of Peter's head, letting Toivakka do all of the talking, feeling glad that he didn't have to speak and feel his voice crack pathetically. As soon as everything was good, they continued to go around the fair again but with little Toi tagging along. The question he had asked before was still un-answered, but he let it go, knowing that the other man didn't know anything due to the shock he portrayed when he saw the violent burns on the boy's face. As they moved across the fair, the deep emotions he had buried underneath him for the man beside him started to come out, falling deeper and deeper into this strange concept called Love, wanting nothing more than to hold his hand and keep him close, wanting to apologize and hit himself repeatedly for not remembering him, bring him home and continue their day-to-day lives like Björn and Peter didn't wake up covered in burns and strange memories, wanting to go back to normal where nothing very interesting happened.

While the small family went around to different booths and games, he felt something resurfacing in his mind, like a trunk full of treasures floating up from the bottom of the ocean and into the open.

He could remember holding his son's hand, Toivakka's arm looped around Björn's larger one, leaning his small body against the Swede's. He could recall the un-easy shift coming from the man beside him as they turned the corner to a small clearing before the rest of the events turning bleak and hard to understand. The heat was there, the pain was as clear as day, but the story behind it, the reason it happened was unclear to him.

_"Toivakka!"_

Björn looked up as the name rang in his head, making him shiver. Toi was leaning against his arm just like in the memory, Peter babbling and laughing gleefully. _"Toivakka!"_

_Bright embers danced before his eyes and stuck onto his shirt, burning through the cloth and touching his skin. Björn's arms were wrapped tightly around his son, holding him closely as he tried to shield Peter away from the flames of anguish and hate. His eyes were scanning the chaos, trying to make out what was a tree and what was his Finnish Lover. "Toivakka!"_

"How about we get some alone time? That way we can try and get you to remember me."

The arm holding him steered him in the other direction, taking him away from the fair and towards a quieter place, far from the people. "You like being away from crowds, no?"

_Small coughs racked the body of his son, chubby hands gripping the front of his shirt as Peter choked._

He nodded dully and let himself be tugged away, looking around curiously. Toivakka stopped and kneeled down in front of Peter, telling him to go find his uncle Mathias near the entrance of the fair so he could spend time with Björn's brother. He watched nervously as his son ran off into the crowds, weaving through the people and disappearing from his sight.

The burns on his back started to throb painfully along with the scar on his chest. "I don't hate you, my love."

The words matched up with the ones he heard in his memory, making him frown and turn to look at the other. _"What?"_

_The images in front of him danced in his vision, doubling before joining again in a complicated choreography. A form loomed behind him but he was too overwhelmed, too scared to look behind him. "I am not yer love, Toivakka is the only one I-"_

There was another un-easy shift next to him, the arms holding onto him loosened until they were no longer there. "Huh..?"

_"It's like killing a cockaroach, isn't it, Björn?"_ The swede kept looking at the other strangely, not understanding why both of the voices, the one he could hear in real life and the one projecting in his memory, were matching up. "It's not a personal thing, I do love you."

_"Yer not making any sense-"_

_"They just keep coming back, they never go down without a fight."_

_"If you kill peter-"_

Toivakka's smooth lips pressed against his temple, calming him down slightly as they entered a clearing. _"Don't stress about it, the pain and the memories will be over soon, alright?"_

  
They stopped walking and Toi turned to stare at him, pressing his soft hands against Björn's hard face, looking into his eyes, the violet of mystery taking complete control of the Finn's irises. The corners of the Swede's lips tugged up a bit, letting a faint smile grace his features. He let the other press against his chest and they wrapped their arms around each other, enjoying the quiet and the darkness. _"I'm sorry."_

"For what?"

_"I have no choice."_

_He could hear the man behind him step forward and felt a sharp pain sting his face, knocking him to the side. Peter fell out of his hands and cried loudly before falling silent. Björn could feel the man crouch over him, knees pressed against his thighs, small hands gripping his arm tightly and pushing it down onto the grass, forcing the other to turn around and look up. "I don't hate you."_

_"To-"_

Toivakka stood in front of him with something silver clutched in his hands, looking up at the other fearfully. _"I don't want to do this.."_

_"Then don't."_

_"You don't understand, Björn."_

_"What will Peter say?"_

_Before he could say anything else, a cold pain ran through his chest as something sharp plunged into his chest, pushing through the bone and skin, cracking his ribs and snapping them._ He gasped and fell backwards, looking up at the person who had done this to him. It took time to comprehend the black handle of the knife jutting out of him and the person standing above him. _"T-toivakka..."_

The darkness surrounded him once more and before he was pulled down into his own hell, he could hear soft murmurs coming from above him.

"Goodbye, my love."

 

Min son= Swedish for "My son"


End file.
